It wasn’t long before I was talking about H again. “Dad told me Mr. Lafferty helps a lot of people.”
G-Pa put down his newspaper. “You know you’re not supposed to talk about those things, don’t you? That’s Henry’s private business.”
“Yes, sir. But since you already know all about it, and I’m just itching to talk to somebody, I can talk to you.”
Then G-Pa started talking just like Grancie had when she’d told me the stories of when H was a baby. “Henry Lafferty the Second is what you might call a wealthy recluse, and he’s Sycamore Hill’s benefactor. Do you know what that means?”
I stopped crocheting. “I know what a recluse is. I looked that up. But I’m not sure about benefactor. Does that mean he uses his money to do good things?”
G-Pa propped his legs up on the ottoman in front of him and stretched back. “A talking calculator and a walking dictionary too. That’s exactly what benefactor means.”
Then he told me how Mr. Lafferty had been like a Secret Santa all these years, helping poor people and doing things to make our little town better.
“Like what?” I asked. “How did he make the town better? He doesn’t even go to town.”
“Well, he built the new library, for starters. Or at least most of the money was his.”
“He did? He could have just given them his library and built a building for it. He has more books than I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, when Henry goes to heaven, that will probably happen, and they’ll build a new wing for all his books.”
Then Grancie added, “And don’t forget, he bought the new organ for the Presbyterian church. Imagine a man like that. He can’t even hear, but he bought an organ so other folks could enjoy the music. And he makes sure all three schools have an art teacher and a music teacher every year.”
“But I don’t get it. If he never leaves his house, how did he even know the town needed a library or the church needed an organ or that some poor family needed help?”
“Until I retired, I kept Henry informed about the needs of the community. And he reads the newspaper, every word. This isn’t such a big town, and he knows more about the people here than you can imagine. He has this uncanny ability to remember names. He probably remembers the name of the first boy he gave a bicycle to for Christmas, and the first woman who got the medicine she needed because he paid for it. And he expected me to remember their names too, and check on those folks from time to time. But he never wanted them to know the help came from him.”
“So Dad’s right. His heart pumps goodness. He just sits up there thinking of what he can do next to help somebody.”
G-Pa looked straight at me. “Pretty much. I imagine Henry has a lot of time to think because he’s not so distracted by what other people hear. And then your dad and I have the great gift of being Henry’s voice and his hands to help folks, especially the ones who need a blessing.”
“And then Mr. Lafferty gives them a blessing?”
“That’s right. He feels his life has been blessed with such wealth so that he can bless someone else. He always said, ‘It’s just money, and I don’t need that much money. It’s too much blessing for just me.’”
I stopped crocheting. “He can’t walk, he can’t hear or speak, he can’t leave his house, and he feels blessed. That doesn’t make sense.”
Grancie spoke. “Oh, yes, it does. It makes perfect sense if you look at things the way Henry does. He doesn’t dwell on what he doesn’t have or what he can’t do. Life’s entirely too short to think about those things. It wastes precious time.”
“What do you mean, Grancie?”
She put down her crocheting needle. “You’re always asking questions, Julia, so let me ask you one: What good would it do if Mr. Lafferty only thought about his limitations? No, let me ask you two questions: If that’s what he did, how much joy would be in his heart?”
I was quiet for a minute. “I get it. His whole life would be wasted, and he would never know about all the good things he could be doing. It’s got to be so much fun to do what he does. I really get it.”
G-Pa chimed in. “Things like building a community, and helping educate some kids around here, and carving birds, and making some poor folks’ lives not quite so hard.” G-Pa paused. “And like teaching a young girl sign language—a young girl who’s going to make her mark on the world. And it’s going to be a good mark. I’m counting on it, and I imagine Henry is too.”
“I never thought about it that way. I’ll do my best not to disappoint you and Mr. Lafferty. But it’s a long time before I’ll be grown up and can make much difference.”
The room got quiet. Grancie crocheted and hummed. G-Pa, sitting by that warm fire, just drifted off for a nap.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Lafferty. I imagined him perched up there on that hill in that big green mansion, looking down over the town and wondering what he could do next to bless someone, sort of like God did. Mom said God didn’t push himself on us. He just waited patiently, and while he was waiting, he was doing his business, listening to all our prayers and taking care of all his creation. And then I pictured Mr. Lafferty out in his garden with a swarm of birds all around him. Dad said he learned to feed them when he was a small boy. He was there with food in his hands, just sitting patiently in the garden until the birds came to him. I imagined he waited a long time before the first bird fed from his hand.
I wondered why Mr. Lafferty would choose to live up there all by himself and never come into town or have any friends. It didn’t take long to answer that question. Who was going to talk to him? He didn’t use his voice, and people would just stare at him and wonder why he didn’t talk. He was always opening his hands to the birds and to everybody else, and he never expected anything back. Well, that was when I decided: Mr. Lafferty had been giving to this town forever, and he gave me a book and some carving tools, and he was teaching me so much. I was going to do something for him.
I have seventy-one granny squares. Twenty-eight more would be ninety-six. Seven hours to crochet. I will find seven hours, and Mom and H will both get lap quilts for Christmas.
Dad took me out to Mr. Lafferty’s on Tuesday afternoon after school. Mr. Hornsby must have heard us coming up the hill. He stood in the driveway, his red hair still poking out from under his cap and his plaid flannel shirt peeking out from under his jacket. “Hello there, Mr. Russell. It’s a fine day for you to be out. Been wet and nasty, but it’s clearing up.” He opened the car door for me. “And hello there to you too. Julia, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, you be careful walking. These rocks are still wet, and they’re mighty slick.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dad guided me to the porch. “It’s early for you to be out here, Edgar.”
“Well, you wanted me to get to know the place, and I can’t do that in the dark. Been a’comin’ in the afternoons and walkin’ and drivin’ these hills. It won’t take me long to learn ever’ rock and tree.”
“I appreciate that, and Mr. Lafferty will too when I let him know.” Dad took my hand. “Let’s step inside out of the cold.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Hornsby followed us to the front door. “I been goin’ home about the time Mr. Lafferty comes in from the studio. I build him a fire in his bedroom first, and then I go have supper with my family and come back for the night.”
Dad rang the bell, and the lights flickered. “Sounds like you’re getting along just fine with Mr. Lafferty and with Mrs. Schumacher.”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Schumacher don’t need to be haulin’ wood and buildin’ no fires. I’m a-tryin’ to help her out a little too.”
Mrs. Schumacher answered the door. “Welcome, Ben.” And then she looked at me, smiled, and signed my name. “Come in out of the cold. Mr. Lafferty’s in the library waiting. And Julia, he has a surprise for you.”
We stood in the front hallway, and Mr. Hornsby took off his wool cap. “I’ll be gettin’ o
n with my rounds. Goin’ over to that north ridge this afternoon while the sun’s shinin’ a bit. Been rainin’ the last couple of days, and I couldn’t get up there.”
Dad set down his briefcase. “I’m assuming since you haven’t called me, there’s been no sign of anyone around.”
“No, sir. No sign. But the last few days it’s been so wet and cold, I don’t think even a vandalizer wanted to be out.”
“That’s good news. The new vehicle should be delivered tomorrow, and that’ll make it easier for you to get around, especially during the winter months.”
“Yes, sir. Surely will. And I’ll be gettin’ your truck back to you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.” Dad shook Mr. Hornsby’s hand.
“Best be off.” Mr. Hornsby started to open the door.
Mrs. Schumacher stopped him. “I’m about to serve tea and biscuits. Wouldn’t you have some first?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. Don’t want to waste no daylight.” He put his cap back on and opened the door.
“Yes. I understand. But stop by before you leave to go home for supper. I made extra biscuits for your family.”
“Yes, ma’am. My kids surely enjoyed those cookies you sent Sunday.”
Mrs. Schumacher smoothed her apron. “That makes me happy. I do all this baking, and it’s so wonderful to have someone enjoy it.”
Mr. Hornsby left to do his work.
I thought H’s giving-goodness had rubbed off on Mrs. Schumacher.
“Tea, everyone?”
Dad answered, “If you’re making it, I could never turn it down.”
Then she looked at me. “Milk and three sugars, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, please.” And I was pleased. At home I drank tea every morning out of a coffee mug, but not when Mrs. Schumacher served it. She used real china cups with green shamrocks on the side, and she always served it with a saucer and a baby spoon.
Mrs. Schumacher sent us down the hallway and then toddled off in the other direction toward the kitchen. Dad and I entered the library, and he went to the smaller table in the corner to get out his computer.
H was at the library table just like he’d been on my last visit. Only this time it was cleared of all the books except for two. And the table was covered in a thick cloth that looked like leather. Tools and two small blocks of wood were lined up in front of him. He waved, signed my name, and picked up a tool. His eyes asked me the question, and I understood.
I signed Yes and pulled my bundle of tools from my backpack and put them on the table.
H signed How are you?
Fine, and how are you?
He picked up a tool with his left hand and signed with his right. Today. He pointed to the tools on his table.
I understood. Today we were carving wood. Yes, you teach sign today also?
His eyes moved quickly, always darting around, and his face was so expressive. Learn sign when working.
I didn’t know the last signs. What that sign? I don’t know.
He fingerspelled so fast I didn’t get it.
Last time, I’d known I needed to learn some sign that would slow him down. I looked it up in my book. Slowly, please.
He smiled. Then he signed so slowly I think Dad might have gotten it. W-o-r-k. He signed working again.
I understand. I really liked the sign for understand because it looked like what it said—the flick of my index finger against my thumb right in front of my eyes, like a lightbulb going off in my brain.
H had a yellow pad and pencil on the table just like Dad said. When I saw it, I pulled mine out of my backpack.
He started writing. Last week, you said you learn from DVD. What is DVD?
I worked on writing down an explanation. Dad, seeing that I was taking a long time, came to stand over my shoulder. After a minute of reading, he signed Wait. Going back to his things, he moved his computer to the library table and turned it on. Then he got out a CD from its paper sleeve, held it up, and fingerspelled D-V-D. He plugged it into his computer and showed it to H.
H’s face showed he got it.
I signed You have a computer?
H shook his head. I looked at Dad, then wrote quickly on my pad. You should have a computer. They’re fun. And you already know how to type on the TTY. I will teach you to use the computer. We can email and chat like the TTY.
He took his pencil, underlined the word email, and put a question mark above it.
I wrote It’s electronic mail, like writing a note on paper except you do it on the computer, and then you can send it to anyone with an email address.
Email addresses took more explaining.
H was so excited, almost agitated. He signed Yes, yes! and fingerspelled e-m-a-i-l.
Dad wrote on my legal pad. I’ll see to it. You should have one in just a few days. Julia is good with computers. She’ll be a great teacher.
H smiled and patted my back while I gave Dad my why-didn’t-you-already-think-of-this look.
By then Mrs. Schumacher was serving tea and biscuits with strawberry jam. H liked his tea like I did—lots of milk and three sugars. After tea, Dad moved to the corner desk near the window and set up his computer. He said he was staying because it was too far to drive back to the office and then back out to Emerald Crest. That was true, but I thought the real reason was he wanted to make certain I did not annoy H.
H asked if I’d brought the wood-carving book. I got it from my backpack. He must have known that book from cover to cover, because he turned to a certain page that had pictures of a glove and a thumb guard. He opened the drawer and handed me a leather glove for my left hand and a thumb guard. It was thick leather, and I slipped it on my thumb just like putting a thimble on my middle finger when I embroidered with Grancie.
I wondered how H knew I was right-handed, so I wrote down that question.
H signed I watch you write, and he snickered. He took in everything with his eyes. Looking at things that closely would probably eliminate lots of my questions. My dad would love that.
H picked up two small pieces of wood only about three inches long and not very thick. He handed me one and kept the other. He wrote notes explaining this was basswood, his favorite for carving, and that we would carve a feather. He chose a tool from his box, pointed to the same tool in my bundle, and we started to carve. He’d do a few strokes and then point to me, and I would copy what he did. This went on for almost an hour. With every whittling away, my piece of wood looked more and more like a feather.
H finally put down his feather and his tool, removed his glove and thumb guard, and pointed to me. I did the same, then he pointed to his watch. I thought maybe he was getting tired and wanted me to leave. He held up his hands in front of me and started wiggling his fingers like he was playing the piano. He quickly wrote Time to play the piano and started pushing away from the table.
I quickly put my things away in my backpack and followed him to the garden room. He took his place in the curve of the piano, and I took the piano bench. I played my last year’s recital pieces. I had never played them for him. He signed Again, please. I repeated them.
And then he signed something I didn’t understand. I guess he read my face before I could ask him about the word, because he shaped his hand like the letter C and made a large half circle, then he fingerspelled C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s and pointed to me. Pointing to me became his sign for asking me to repeat any new sign I learned. I did.
Then H signed Christmas and moved his hands again like he was playing the piano. I was playing “Jingle Bells” by the time his hands touched the piano to feel the vibrations. Someday I will ask him about his Christmas memories. I just knew he remembered, because he knew these Christmas songs.
Dad entered the room with his coat on and his briefcase and my jacket and backpack. It was time to go. I looked out the window. The sun was almost behind the mountain. G-Pa was right about November being here. The days were getting shorter, and time with H went by so quickly.
; H had his legal pad on his lap and his pencil behind his ear. He wrote Next week. Finish feather and start computer DVD.
I smiled. I wasn’t sure how much H understood about the computer, but I would teach him. I signed Yes, and thank you very much.
I couldn’t teach him to hug without hugging him, so I went to his wheelchair, leaned over, and put my arms around his neck. He just sat there and held on to his pad and pencil. I stood up and waved goodbye and signed his name. Signing his name was like blowing a kiss—two fingers to my lips and then I moved them to my heart. His mother must have given him that name.
Dad and I were out the door and down the hill by the time the sun had slipped behind the mountain. He was quiet while he drove, and I leaned my head back and thought about carving a feather and the new words I’d learned and how H was teaching me. I was doing and learning at the same time. I finally broke the silence. “Dad, I think this computer will change H’s life.”
“What’s this with calling him H? Why not Mr. Lafferty?”
“Because he’s H to me.”
“No, Julia, he is Mr. Lafferty to you. It is more respectful to speak of him as Mr. Lafferty.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, and I’ll be respectful. You can count on it, but in my heart, he’s still H.” H’s father was Mr. Henry Lafferty the First, and calling him Mr. Lafferty fit. Henry Lafferty the Second, my friend and teacher, was more like his sign name, and he was H to me.
Grancie and G-Pa were at our house for dinner when Dad and I got home. I told them all about seeing Mr. Lafferty and carving the bird feather. H had kept the feather and my glove and thumb guard, so I had nothing new to show them.
All the conversation around the table was about the Russell men’s outing this weekend—pheasant hunting up near Pennsylvania in the same lodge they’d been going to since Dad was Jackson’s age. It was their tradition the weekend before Thanksgiving. G-Pa reported, “Weather’s supposed to be good, only slightly colder that far north. But no snow, and we should have pheasant for Thanksgiving.”
Silent Days, Holy Night Page 10
